One Step Forward
by Dennis
Summary: In the summer after graduation, Daria must decide whether to lend a helping hand to one of her exteachers.


One Step Forward

By Dennis

Consciousness broke on him suddenly, as tidal waves of pain smashed through his head. Questions like, "Who am I?", "Where am I?", "What happened?" and "How did I get here?" whirled through his mind, colliding with each other and fracturing his attempts at answers. He drew a deep breath through a mouth filled with cotton dipped in raw sewage to collect himself. _Let's start with where,_ he thought. Where was often a good place to start. The rough surface against which his cheek rested impinged on his consciousness. _Pavement. Now we're getting somewhere._ Slowly, he opened his eyes. The familiar storefronts of Dega Street, and the window of his favorite seedy bar were expected. The enormous Doc Martens covering thin but shapely legs were not.

He let his eyes wander upward, past a black skirt and green jacket, to the face attached to the boots. His impression was of round glasses framed by auburn hair. _One of my students. The smart, sarcastic one. What's her name..._

"Mr. DeMartino?" she said, puzzled and horrified.

_Daria._ He started to struggle to hands and knees, and gave it up as a bad job. "Hello, Daria," he rasped.

"Are you alright?" As she leaned toward him, the concern on her face was replaced by disgust. He guessed she was beginning to smell the stench of cheap whiskey that always rose from him on mornings like this.

"I've been better," he said. "But no need to worry about me. Feel free to go about whatever important errand you have this morning." As he grew more aware of his surroundings, important facts emerged from the haze of his brain. For example, it was summer, which meant he could start again as soon as the bar opened if he wanted. He was also aware that his drinking had been getting worse. Being seen by a student, even a recent graduate, in this condition confirmed that. It also might cost him his job. He wondered if it would. He wondered if he cared.

"Let me help you up," she said, hiding what he felt sure was disgust behind her carefully neutral mask. Although he protested at first, she continued to try, until finally he was standing, if somewhat unsteadily. He was conscious of the morning sun beating down on him and the few passers-by, some staring curiously, some in similar conditions. Mostly, he was conscious that his head hurt like hell. From somewhere to his right, he heard Daria mutter, "We need to get you some coffee and aspirin." He followed, unresisting, as she lead him to Den of Perk.

Once inside, she ordered him coffee and toast. When the waitress placed a glass of water in front of him, he guzzled it down like it contained his hope of salvation. He did the same with the coffee when it arrived, drinking it black, not even bothering to let it cool. After two more cups, and the toast, he felt almost human and focused his bleary eyes on his companion. "Thank you, Miss Morgendorffer," he said. "I should be getting home."

Daria said nothing, but he felt her eyes on him. She was a perceptive girl, he knew, so she must know that finding him passed out in the street was a sign that things were not going well for him. She was also one of his best students, and having her, as opposed to the usual run of drooling idiot, see him at his most vulnerable gave him a small twinge of guilt. Trapped by those eyes, unable to leave, he waited, sipping at a fourth cup of coffee, hoping against hope that the pounding in his head and the churning of his stomach would subside.

When she finally spoke, it came as a surprise. "How many times?" she asked, her usually flat voice intense.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, knowing exactly what she asked, but stalling for time.

"How many times have you woken up in the street since the school year ended?" Each word, enunciated clearly, carried an accusation.

"Not too often," he said, surprised at how nervous he felt. "Twice. Three times. Maybe four."

She gave him a flat look. "It's July 28th, so six weeks since the end of school. I'll bet my hydrocephalic skull replica you've done it at least fifteen times."

"So what if I have?" he said, suddenly belligerent. "What's it to you?"

"I don't like seeing someone I thought I respected killing themselves," she said. "But if you don't care, I can go." Her eyes stabbed him with accusation.

"I do care," he said, softly, letting his head fall into his hands. "But I have nowhere to go. And drinking is better than remembering."

"Can't you get counseling or go to rehab?" Daria's voice was suddenly gentle.

"We're not covered for that," he said hopelessly. "Li got the cheapest coverage she could. We have the worst contract in the state, and I can't afford rehab on my salary." He gave a mirthless laugh. "I can't even afford good whiskey. Some nights I just walk down Dega Street with a five-dollar bottle in a paper bag, like some kind of hobo."

She considered him for a long moment. Part of him rebelled; he didn't want this kid's pity. But another part of him welcomed anyone showing even a sign of caring. Then, her expression shifted, as if she'd decided on a course of action. "Mr. Demartino, I think I can help you. But you have to answer me honestly. Do you want to stop drinking?"

_Do you want to stop drinking?_ The question echoed through his head. Did the want to lose the blessed forgetting? _To be free of the chains of addiction?_ No more Lysol baths. Less fear of losing his job. He met the eyes of the earnest eighteen-year-old before him and made his decision. "Yes. I want to stop drinking."

"Good," she said. "I think I know a way to get you into rehab. It'll be quick and quiet. Ms. Li never needs to find out. But you've got to be serious."

He gave her an incredulous look. "How do you know how to get someone into rehab?"

She gave him a half-smile. "You learn all sorts of things as a lawyer's daughter. Especially when the lawyer's boss is addicted to amphetamines and rehabs at the same place they send future partners on family retreats."

He shook his head in admiration. "Sometimes you amaze me, Daria. How will you get me in."

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies," she said. "You'll have to trust me."

_If I had any honor, I'd turn down an offer like that._ Of course, if he'd had any honor, he wouldn't wake up in the middle of Dega Street four times a week, so he knew he would take her offer. He acknowledged with a nod.

Daria settled the bill. "I'll take you home, and get things set up. With any luck, you'll be in rehab by the end of the day."

Daria was as good as her word. He was checked into Quiet Ivy by the end of the day. The next four weeks were some of the most grueling of his life—reliving his nightmare experiences in Vietnam and dealing with the demons that drove him to drink. Whenever he'd felt like running, though, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses framed by auburn hair rose in his mind's eye, and felt the sting of good solid kick from a Doc Marten, driving him to keep going.

When she picked him up on August 25, he felt like a new man. "I can't thank you enough, Daria," he said. "i want to tell the world how you've helped me."

"Please don't," she said softly. "Just concentrate on staying better. It's not going to be easy for you."

"I know," he said gravely. "I'll be back around my usually temptations."

"And frustrations," she added, not turning her head as she drove. "After all, you've got one more year with Kevin."

He felt like he could almost hear the smile in her voice, something he wouldn't have noticed four weeks ago. "Can we go back," he asked, then laughed to show he wasn't serious. It was a more natural sounding laugh than he'd had before.

They arrived in front of his house. Ramshackle though it was, he found he'd missed it. "A new life," he said.

"I'm sorry?" Daria said.

"I said, I feel like I'm starting a new life. And I owe it to you." He smiled at her. "I can't thank you enough, Daria. Is there some way, I can pay you back?"

"Yes," she said. "Stay away from the bottle. That's reward enough for me. Other than that, we can keep this our secret. If you never tell anyone, Ms. Li will never know, and you'll keep your job."

Meeting her eyes, he knew she was right. Although by law teachers were not supposed to be fired for dealing with their problems, he also knew that Ms. Li had ways of removing recalcitrant teachers, tenure or no tenure. If she found out about his summer vacation, his job would be gone within a month. "Thank you, Daria," he said again. "I'm sorry no one will know what you did."

"I'm not," she said as he climbed out of the care. "The left hand giveth and the right hand knoweth not." With a characteristic half-smile, she added, "Now go, and sin no more. And be the teacher you always should have been." Without another word, she drove off, and he set out to do just that.

**Author's Note:**

This story was inspired by an Iron Chef posted by Brother Grimace. The terms of the Iron Chef were that a faculty member finds out that Daria has done a good deed worthy of notice, but chooses not to share the information. I'm not sure if this fulfills the Iron Chef, but thanks to BG for the inspiration.

**Disclaimer: **_Daria_ and all characters are copyright MTV 1997–2002. I own nothing and am merely along for the ride.


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